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Sunday, April 17, 2016

Women of Letters - A letter to my security blanket

Today, the 17th of April, I took part in Women of Letters at the Thornbury Theatre. Before an audience of about 400 people, I read out the following letter to my identified "security blanket". I am publishing my letter, complete with links, for those folks interested.

To my fellow
world traveller,

They say silence
is golden. My world is rarely completely silent yet when it is, I’ve grown to
fear it. For silence means something is wrong. Silence physically is a sign of
my fallibility. My entire life has been spent on this precipice, knowing that a
common cold can mean significant hearing loss for weeks. Knowing that the
refined nature of my voice is the product of speech therapy as a child whose
recurrent inner ear infections left her with comprehension issues. Knowing that
with each passing year, my hearing dulls and should I be lucky enough to make
it to a ripe old age, there is no way I will do so without operations and aids.

Yet this is
nothing. For I’d take physical silence over emotional silence any day. Emotional
silence means isolation. It means rejection and mind games. It means walking on
egg shells waiting for the inevitable shattering. It means being taken for
granted. It means nothingness. It’s the battles I’ve fought my entire life,
which I’ve survived and which I never want to have to fight again.

There’s nothing
which can fix all that is broken, physically or mentally. There’s mainly just
the mechanisms for getting through it and ploughing on. Yet placing you on my
head has, at times, been what has gotten me out the front door and into the
world where I belong. When I’m being driven mad by my incessant tinnitus to the
point of where I simply cannot focus on what anyone is saying to me, you’ve
been like salve on my frayed nerves, drowning out the ringing. When I’ve been
dragging my feet on those unbearable cold winter’s mornings I whinge endlessly
about, you have, at times, moved me to a rhythmic strut. When I’ve been healing
you have reminded me I’m a continual survivor through some simple notes. You’ve
told me that while life is not always easy, my strength lies in the way I
continue to live it without limitations and apology. When I was sitting there
with whiplash following a high speed, head on car crash, you were telling me I
was getting away with it all messed up. When I was ferociously hungover after a
night at the pub with the comrades, I was comfortably numb. When I was
surrounded by white dude hipsters explaining all my politics to me, you were
calling them star-belly sneetches. When I was on my way to a rally, I wasn’t
tolerating this so my children won’t be next. When I was in a pile, trying to
put the pieces back together bit by bit and wondering why I was continually
expected to do this and smile about it for everyone else’s benefit as I am an
Aboriginal woman in a world which says we don’t belong, I was doll parts.

You’ve
delivered, direct from my ears to my very essence, time and time again.

I like the way
you engulf my head. Not only do you ensure that sound surrounds me and is
unbroken but you have, at times, kept my ears warm. I have been told time and
time again that as I woman, I am not supposed to wear you at night, as this is
apparently an invitation for men to attack me. If anything though, your
presence has made me less fearful of walking around alone, for all it takes is
a few strains and I’m relaxed and striding confidently. I remember those angsty
and horrible teenage days where I had two parents and three younger siblings to
block out in order to get through my homework and move on to uni. You were
always there, propelling me toward my inner grunge goddess or confessed 70s
throwback. Your presence has comforted me in a crowd when I’m dealing with my
consummate introversion and personal space issues. Writers may be extroverts on
the page, but we tend to mainly be introverts in real life and you totally get
that quandary. I may not wish to talk to, or be touched by, anyone there but a
simple hug around the back of my neck reminds me you’re not far away should I
wish to cut them out. I’ve been busted on more than one occasion singing along
to what is silence in other people’s worlds, or even busting some moves because
my feet just cannot stop. Though this must look awfully strange to those people,
your ability to get me out of my ever-questioning head where I will show such a
lack of inhibition is truly a gift, for there’s few humans in this world that
manage that feat.

It’s more than
this though. Through your function, you have conveyed the worlds of others to
me, showing their beauty, their fallibility, their strength and their
extraordinary talent. You’ve shown me that the most astoundingly talented
lyricists also seem to be the most tortured souls; wrestling with their demons
in ways I know too well. I’ve witnessed a lifelong love journey conveyed via
the plucking of just a few strings. They’ve included me and made me proud to be
a fellow weirdo, for their journey is aligned with mine. Their anger, conveyed
with such beauty and integrity moves my own anger and anguish to a better
place. It shows me time and time again that out there, there are some
extraordinarily talented and passionate people whom I share the planet with.
Who give, so that the rest of us feel a little less isolated, a little more
coherent and capable, a little more worthy. Thank you for conveying their
messages to me.

My fellow
traveller in life; my wonderful stereo headphones; I thank you. I thank you for
putting a spring in a step, for comforting me, for creating a safety bubble
when I have needed it. I thank you for getting me out of my head on occasion
and through some grim times. I thank you for the peace you’ve given me when my
ears remind me that their time will be up someday. But most of all, I thank you
for breaking the silence. For silence is never golden. Silence is fear,
submission, isolation and pain. And when you’re around, silence need not haunt
me in the complex ways which it manages to.

I cannot wait to
break into a fine stride with you on the footpaths of Berlin in ten days’ time.
I only hope that in our exuberance, on our long awaited journey, we remember to
stick to the right hand side of the footpath while there. For breaking silence
via an angry German person whom I’ve just collided with is not my ideal
scenario…

3 comments:

God that was beautifully melancholic Celeste. Hope you have a fantastic time in beautiful Berlin (just try to avoid the old man nude picnics in the park. I still can't get that image out of my head ;-)

This is off topic but I wasn't sure how else to contact you. Not sure if you already knew about this review because they do such a bloody good job of keeping it on the down-low, but once again it's time for a review of commercial radio conducted by... commercial radio (more or less). Co/self-regulation is obviously beyond a joke for this mob and the "hardly ever" review never gets any traction, even though legally, anyone can make a submission. It would be great if someone with a voice could make some noise about this and stir up some accountability from this bunch of cowboys. I'm pretty sure the codes on gender and race are being broken every day. Over and over again.

I love this piece so much!Do you ever share your work with educational publications? I work in a public school in Japan and we make an English newsletter to broaden the student's cultural and academic horizons. Our next issue is about music, and I'm trying to include content from more diverse sources.But I realized re-reading this article that it would need to be heavily edited even after a Japanese translation- our students have pretty basic English skills. It was a long shot...In any case it's a beautiful article! Thank you as always for your blog and your work!

Hi Celeste! I have been super devasted about the murder of Adeline Yvette Wilson Rigney and her children here in Adelaide.I am heartbroken about the murder of her and her kids.I cannot get her off my mind.The anger and sadness due to the victim blaming is growing inside me.Yours is the first article I have read that makes any sense at all.Running Yvette into the ground.She was beautiful and her kids are smiling in every picture.Im disgusted and amazed that the perpetrator of these murders has not been mentioned.The focus here is all wrong.Peet did nake a choice....the worst most horrifying choice of all and then no support for Yvette.I was a victim of family violence at the hand of my kids father.I literally fought him off myself and it took year's to make him go away.I can sadly imagine the level of violence.I was sad and just cannot stop shaking my head about the position the media is taking on this.Its beyond appauling.This beautiful aboriginal woman was no way given the correct or necessary support.I didnt either.The police discriminate against women who are upset and emotional and side with the males usually,thats been my personal experience,there is no help from them.Reading your article today actually lifted my spirits as I thought.....yes I had totally been thinking the reporting was biased.You confirmed that. Its really nice to know there is someone like you speaking out.Your very inspiring and ill be reading more of your works from now on.I am a sole parent of 2...I work for myself and study womens ed at tafe.last 12 months.Next year I begin uni...politics and womens studies.I like uour strong views and I think im going yo learn lots about Aboriginal women and the way they think,their needs and views.I want to know.I have travelled Australia, as a young child we traveled to WA.I have a beautiful vivid memory of an aboriginal family wslking out of the desert....not dressed in western clothing. The woman had a baby strapped on with animal skin.Its a memory I will always treasure. 1979....it was remote....I hate whats been done to Aboriginal Culture.We study lots about it at Tafe.Just wanted to say...I agree on the media bias in regards to Yvette ..and I think your awesome. Thanks for being so open. ....kind regards Michelle

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Arrernte, feminist, hard left, trade unionist, with a taste for protopunk.
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